


Love, Hate, and Band Season

by Simplyveva, Snickerdickles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura is a bitch, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Explicit Language, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Flirting, Lance is in guard, M/M, Marching Band, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Blow Jobs, Questions, Shiro is an amputee, Twenty questions, colorguard, keith is a trumpet, mild homphobia, shiro is drum major
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplyveva/pseuds/Simplyveva, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickerdickles/pseuds/Snickerdickles
Summary: Guard sucks, honestly. He doesn't really know why he keeps joining. Allura treats them all like shit, they're all so stressed that both suicide and homicide are genuine concerns, and to top it all off, this year's show is a DCI winner. But at least Keith can make it all better sometimes, or Lance could overthink it and make it just that much worse.





	Love, Hate, and Band Season

**Author's Note:**

> This, I hope will be one of the most accurate Band/Guard fics as it was written by a Guard member from the West and a former band member from the Midwest.
> 
> Plus, it's inspired by true events, starring me.

**Love, Hate, and Band Season**

_ Part One: Tilt _

**_Depends on who you ask._ **

 

Everyone in the Band hated everyone in the Guard and everyone in the Guard hated everyone in the Band. Well, for the most part. There are always exceptions. 

Sometimes friendships carry over and withstand the deep strain and stress that Marching season causes. 

Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were a prime example of one such friendship. They had been friends since middle school, and since the Cello wasn’t exactly “marching band material”, Lance had simply signed up for the Color Guard instead. It was beautiful, really, and he really wanted to follow in his mother's footsteps. His mother had done Color Guard all four years of high school and was the Captain during her senior year. After she graduated, she went on to join an A-level Drum Corps and eventually went back to her alma mater and taught the Guard under Coran, her old Band Director that was evidently still teaching. Unfortunately, she got pregnant with his older sister Veronica and decided to go back to college and marry his father. Lance still thinks that she shouldn’t have sacrificed doing what she loves in order to settle down, but then again, he wouldn’t have been born if she hadn’t.

Pidge and Hunk, on the other hand, had been pretty much inseparable since, like, fifth grade. They were, in the simplest terms, prodigies. They both took STEM and media classes and Pidge was even awarded a college scholarship during her sophomore year of high school after developing a prosthetic arm that can connect to the remaining living nerve endings to function and move at a speed superior to the original limb. It even helped to repair some of the damaged nerves by using the body’s natural plasma to promote rapid regeneration of cells. She debuted her prosthetic masterpiece on Takashi Shirogane, an amputee in the year above her who was, at the time, training for the position of Drum Major. Pidge really only got her hands on him because he was dating her brother, but hey, whatever works.

Hunk wasn't as fast with development and conceptual planning as Pidge was, but he could fix absolutely anything that was thrown his way. He could take one look at something and know how it works and be able to break it down and build it back up in 100 different ways. 

Lance, however, was a Junior in Sophomore math. He swore he wasn't dumb, but none of it had felt quite as easy to him as it was for everyone else. He even had trouble in his below average class, and so much so that it had made him anxious enough to skip class 18 days in a row last year. So obviously, he was no genius when it came to math. On top of that, he just couldn't for the life of him remember anything he was taught in his science classes, so he took the required courses and never moved onto chemistry. But good lord, There was one thing that Lance was good at. This boy was a fucking linguistics _god._ In fifth grade, while Pidge and Hunk were putting together card games to cheat classmates out of whatever was in their pockets, he was reading 712 words per minute, more than 10 words _per_ _second._ A fast enough speed to attend Harvard. He could do that in three languages, English, Spanish, and French, and his comprehension was just as good in each one. 

He also loved writing. He loved getting his emotions down on paper and being able to crank out 5k word essays in an hour and still get an A while Pidge or Hunk would take a few days and get a C+. It felt good to have at least _something_ that he was good at, but it also hurt when people like Keith, a fucking _trumpet,_ for god's sake, him stupid because of his math grades and constantly rubbed it in his face that he was in a higher level math class, even if it was only the average math class. That shouldn’t give him bragging rights, but Keith seemed to be eager to one up Lance at any chance he got.

Keith regularly acted like an AP piece of shit. He didn't even show basic respect to his section leader. Granted, she was by far one of the worst people Lance had ever met and definitely didn't deserve respect, she was still the section leader. Keith  _ definitely _ wasn’t as great as he thought he was, and he hated it when Lance pointed out (quite often) that he wasn’t perfect and still had a thing or two to learn.

 

Two hours into Monday night practice, they were getting their first water break after what Coran called “a halfway acceptable“ run-through. Pidge was doing what she did almost every break, laying on her back, panting, and staring emptily up at the stars above the lights. Hunk was trying to catch his breath and chug as much water as possible after having done a full run through and sprinting, full speed, to the track to get his water. Lance stuck around the rest of the Guard and ran around frantically with most of his equipment spilling out of his arms. The silks of his flags were fluttering in his face, flowing behind him and dragging across the turf while his sabres felt like they were going to break his fingers off, and his rifles were hitting his shins with every step he took as he managed to reset all of his stuff before the band’s break ended. Guard didn't get breaks. 

Keith was just standing around, still holding his trumpet, and talking to other band members. He looked good, like he always did. Not that Lance would ever, in a _million years,_ admit that out loud. He was sweaty and absolutely _glistening_ under the field lights and he had this nonchalant look to his posture that said he didn't care, but anyone who had ever spent their free period in the band room knew that he did. Keith may have convinced everyone that he was “just that good”, but Lance knew better. He knew that asshat was always practicing whenever he had a spare moment and had even gotten chewed out by the choir director from next door for being too loud. Objectively speaking, he was a beautiful individual. A dark Adonis of sorts. Perhaps Lance could admit that he was a beautiful person on the inside as well, if he could just get over that horrible fucking superiority complex.

He had glowing skin with lovely cool undertones, and what Cosmo magazine described as “raven” hair, very much black and silky in appearance. He also had natural contours to his face that any drag queen would kill for. He wasn’t exactly big or in any way overwhelmingly large stature-wise, but he had a lot of lean muscle, and while trumpet was nowhere near the heaviest instruments, he had the biceps that said he was no stranger to holding it at the same angle for four hours at a time. On another note, _His calves looked so delicious._ He seriously could eat them right up, and the farther up Lance’s eyes traveled up, the better the view got. He was gorgeous, that was undeniable. The worst part was that Keith knew it.

-

Did Keith think the band was above the guard? Yes. Did he think Lance was a complete and utter god that was so insanely out of his league that he wasn't even playing the same sport? Also yes. 

So, when you like someone who you see yourself having no chance with, but also see as inherently beneath you, what do you do? Make fun of them, of course.

Keith could admit that it was kinda shitty to make fun of Lance, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Something in the back of his mind was always nagging at him to say stupid shit to rile him up. It was simultaneously one of the cutest and most irritating things he had to witness on the daily.    
Another thing he also had to deal with on the daily was his older brother, Shiro. Shiro has always been the golden child, the musical prodigy, even after he had lost his arm. Sure, he had to relearn a lot of things, but at least that time gave Keith a chance to catch up a bit. That time was short because Shiro’s boyfriend’s little sister, Pidge, had designed him a badass prosthetic arm that made to where it was like he had never lost his arm at all. As a brother, Keith was super happy for him. As a musician, it ate him alive because he was  _ so goddamn close  _ to finally being better than him.    
All of that aside, Keith knows he can be better. He knows that he acts like a douchecanoe about 80% of the time, but being an ass was a lot better than getting made fun of, or worse, being told that he wasn’t good enough. So, he’s gotta fake it ‘til he makes it.    
Unfortunately, there’s only one person who can see through his bullshit, and that’s Lance.  _ Fucking Lance _ , of all people. Shallow, self-centered, gorgeous, kind,  _ idiotic _ Lance. Nothing makes Keith’s skin boil more than when Lance points out mistakes or missed notes or says that he’s out of tune, just to fuck with him. Sometimes, He  _ knows  _ he made a mistake, but like hell is he gonna let Lance point it out to him in front of everyone, and  _ especially _ not in front of Shiro.   
So, he may or may not have control over what pops out of his mouth and in the general direction of Lance at any given time. Although, half of the time he doesn’t even remember what he says in response, he definitely doesn’t forget the veiled look of hurt that flashes across his face every time before he composes himself as if Keith’s words were just specks in the wind. 

-

 

Honestly, all of Keith's bullshit may have hurt Lance's self esteem if he cared even a little bit about anything he said. So it's a good thing, in a roundabout way, that nothing Keith said mattered to him anymore after years of rejection and otherwise intrapersonal issues that had caused him to be mildly emotionally unavailable around freshman year. He was, however, attending twice-weekly therapy to help him work on it all, and it had helped him keep his friends and recognize that, realistically, only Pidge and Hunk had seen him at his absolute worst. They had been there when his ex-girlfriend Nyma stole all of his shit and rather than go after her, he chose to go on a three-day binge drinking escapade, by the end of which, he was getting his stomach pumped in the hospital. They had seen him puke his guts out and rubbed his back gently while he did it, had watched him piss himself helplessly and even washed his clothes for him afterwards. They were there when his sister died and when he came out. They've always been there,and he was grateful for that. 

However, there were also always the nasty little thoughts in the back of his mind, the “Drop the Baby“ thoughts, that whispered shit in his ears every night when he tried to sleep. His therapist said everyone had the occasional Drop the Baby thought ,  but that didn’t really make him feel that much better. 

Unfortunately, Keith didn't know that about him, so Lance appeared simply as a pompous ass, one whose primary personality trait was raging narcissism and whose worst fear was missing a day of his skincare routine. 

But everyone, whether they acknowledge it or not, knows that there is more to everyone than what meets the eye. Especially when what meets the eye is illuminated by stadium lights and honest to god, pure, unadulterated rage that lit a blue flame beneath Lance and an orange one beneath every other guard member. 

-

Despite all of this, Keith and Lance talked. “Friends“ may have been a bit of a reach for where they stood, but they hung out occasionally. And there was a pretty key incident that sent Keith into a temporary whirlpool of self-hate and ultimately began our tale of lovers with Hierarchy issues. 

-

**August 1st**

**P.E.**

-

 

It was the last period of the day, Physical Education. On one hand, Lance liked having P.E. as the last class of the day because he could go straight home and shower off all the sweat that accumulated throughout the period. On the other hand, it meant he had to stew in his own sweat for about 30 minutes on the bus everyday. 

Yeah, definitely some pros and cons there. Although, it’s not like he had a choice, with the 2 years of P.E. that were required to graduate and all. He sighed as he picked up his jogging pace a little, just enough to make it look like he was actually running and not walking. 

Lance was grateful that he had Mr. Noble for P.E. instead of Mrs. Robinson. That woman was the devil disguised as a gym teacher, and her favorite activity was making the students in her class run. A lot. 

Because the class was at the end of the day, that meant that it was the longest period of the day. That also meant that students had plenty of time to run about 3-5 miles every class. 

Luckily for Lance, Noble usually just made them run about 8-10 laps around the track and then let them walk for the remainder of the class. For the poor bastards in Robinson’s class, they were not as fortunate. You see, Robinson felt that running around the track wasn’t good enough. Oh no, she liked to see the pain in her student’s eyes as she announced that her classes would be consisting of Tower Runs. 

Tower Runs were the actual worst. Everyone in the class was piled into an old school bus that drove them about 5 miles away from the school to a big, blue water tower. Ergo, Tower Run. The road that was next to the school was a county road paved in dirt, so it was pretty safe for a bunch of sweaty, miserable teenagers to run all the way back without fear of getting run over by any passing vehicles. 

While Lance was finishing up his final lap on the track, he saw Keith running up the road and back to the school track area. Judging from the pack of people quite a distance behind him, Keith looked like he had pretty much ran the entire way back without hardly breaking a sweat. Lance sprinted the last 400 yards and then slowed to a walk as soon as Keith walked onto track, water bottle in hand. 

Lance wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded a sort of greeting to Keith as he fell into step beside him. Upon closer inspection, He could see the outline of sweat that dampened the nape of Keith’s hair and his shirt from the tops of his shoulders to about his stomach. So, he wasn’t a freak of nature after all. 

They walked together silently, the air of awkwardness threatening to swallow Lance whole. Lance started to fidget with his fingers and then decided to try and at least dispel some of the awkward vibes with some conversation. 

“So,” Lance began, “Tower Run, huh. You must hate being in Robinson’s class,”

Keith glanced over at Lance, actually a little startled that he started talking. 

“I don’t mind it. I like running in places other than the track,” Keith said before he took a swig of water and replaced the cap. 

Lance nodded and kept walking forward, his arms swinging freely with every step. Even though the day wasn’t very warm, he could feel the warmth radiating off of Keith. He glanced over and Keith’s gaze was directed forward, the sloshing of his water bottle the only noise between the two boys. Lance tried to avoid looking directly at Keith, the height difference just prominent enough to make it awkward as hell whenever Lance had to crane his neck up just a tad.

Just then, Lance had a brilliant idea.

“Hey, Mullet, let’s pass some time with a little game of 20 questions, yeah? I don’t know about you, but this silence is killing me, man.”

Keith turned his head slightly and considered Lance’s words before saying, “Sure, but if I don’t want to answer something, I won’t.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Lance said as he walked with a little more pep in his step. Keith actually agreed to something he said, for once in his life.

They walked a little farther along the track, the silence still deafening.

Fuck, this was awkward. Keith looked down at him expectantly before huffing out a small chuckle and shaking his head. A few more seconds passed before Lance opened his mouth again, saying the first question that came to mind.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Really, Lance,” Keith said, “Could you think of anything more generic?”

Lance shrugged his shoulders slightly, “I dunno, I panicked. Just answer the question, Mullet.”

“My favorite color is red. Like a dark red. And stop calling me Mullet, it’s not a mullet,” Keith said as he runs his fingers through his hair self-consciously. Sweat flies from Keith’s forehead and Lance’s throat closes for half a second as his stomach clenches warmly. 

Lance reboots his brain and shoots Keith a smirk, “It’s totally a mullet, Keith. You can’t deny that.”

“That’s just how it grows, you numbskull,” Keith growled as he drank more water, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. Heat swirls low in Lance’s belly as he forgets the retort that was about to fly out of his mouth. He needs to get a fucking grip. Keith’s gonna think he’s a psycho if he keeps staring at him any time he does something hot, so Lance clears his throat and starts talking.

“Well, anyway, my favorite color is blue. You know, the kind of blue that you can find in a beautiful ocean where its kinda mixed with green,” Lance mumbles quietly, a wistful note in his voice. Man, he misses the ocean. 

Keith’s expression softens a bit and nods as he looks forward again, the pace of their walking slower than before. 

“Do you have any pets?” 

Lance looks over to Keith, his expression full of sadness.

“I used to have a dog. He ran away one day when my sister, Veronica, forgot to close the gate to the backyard. I never saw him again,” Lance said as he starts to fidget with his fingers again. He had almost forgotten about that incident.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lance. I couldn’t imagine losing Kosmo like that,” Keith replied as he placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder, trying to comfort him and only marginally succeeding. 

Lance gave Keith a small smile as Keith’s hand retracted back into his own personal space. 

“Yeah, it really sucked. Anyways, What’s your favorite movie?” Lance asked as they rounded the corner of the track. Lance noticed Noble and Robinson were chatting by the bleachers, simultaneously watching over the students and their stuff. 

“Star Wars, hands down,” Keith replied without hesitation as he downed the last of his water quickly, tossing the empty bottle in a trash can on the side of the track. 

“Dude, Star Wars is the best! What’s your favorite episode, this is important,” Lance said as he looked at Keith expectantly. If he said anything other than one of the original trilogy movies, Lance was going to flip. 

“I think it’s a tie between Episode 4 and 6, you can’t beat the classics, man.” 

Lance breathed a sigh of relief, Keith obviously knew a thing or two about movie masterpieces, so Lance could breathe easily now. There were two things you didn’t fuck around with when it came to Lance, his skincare routine and movies --  _ Especially  _ Star Wars. 

“Episode 6 is my favorite, but I’ll give 4 an honorable second place,” Lance says as he looks up and shoots Keith a blinding smile. Keith blinks down at him for a second before his mouth curls into a small, close mouthed smile. 

Lance felt his pulse quicken as he abruptly looked down at his shoes as he walked, feeling exposed just from one little smile. Just as Lance was about to look up again, the bell signaling the end of class rang across the field and students started to pick up their stuff from the bleachers and go home. 

“I guess our little game has to end here,” Keith said as they both reached the bleachers and he made a grab for his backpack and slung it across his shoulder. 

“I guess so,” Lance mused as he grabbed his own backpack. 

Lance hung back as the rest of his classmates started to walk away, leaving Keith and Lance pretty much alone by the bleachers. Lance rubbed his neck awkwardly before saying, “I guess I’ll see you at practice later?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Keith said as he threw up a casual wave, signaling a goodbye. 

“See you later, Mullet,” Lance smirked as he returned the wave and watched Keith saunter away towards the gate, his expression turning annoyed at sound of the nickname. Lance couldn’t help the stutter in his chest as Keith shot him his own amused smirk and flipped him off as he disappeared around the building, probably heading towards the student parking lot. Lance’s face split into a smile and he felt just a tad lighter as he waited by the school entrance for the bus, for once not caring about the sweat that drenched his clothes the entire way home.


End file.
